


I do (love you)

by sparklingice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester is Not a Morning Person, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Intimacy, Kissing, Loving Sam Winchester, M/M, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Naked Cuddling, Naked Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Romantic Fluff, Season/Series 01, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklingice/pseuds/sparklingice
Summary: Sam has something important to tell, but Dean can be a little difficult when he is afraid.





	I do (love you)

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to a Sufjan Stevens song (Futile Devices) and it gave me a craving for sweetness. I wrote this with season 1 in mind, but it could have happened anytime after Stanford.

 

The sun rises above the hill of Dean's shoulder, behind the motel window, and gold spills over the rise and fall of bare skin. There's a fresh scar line leading to Dean's collarbone that cuts into the picture with its jagged ridge. A mountain, no man's land. Sam raises a finger and strokes every valley until it's taken from the shadows into the morning as Dean turns from stomach to side. A breeze drifts in through the window he cracked open ten minutes ago and flicks the curve of a yellow-stained curtain against Dean's back. A shiver breaks out over Dean's arms, runs down to his fingers and lifts his fine hairs until they gleam like a sheen of halo in the light.

"Cold?" Sam whispers into the heavy space between them. He knows Dean won't answer. Can't. Faking sleep requires dedication and a certain brand of stupidity. He doesn't mind. It was expected. Normal, if not welcome. Morning afters didn't use to go any better before Stanford either.

"We don't have to talk about it." He rubs over a soft fingertip, a miracle of smoothness in a world of calluses, and captures the tremble that echoes down to Dean's entire hand. Nerves don't spare even the most fearless of hunters. Sam knows it was their first time in a long while, Dean's first time with feeling probably ever since Sam left. He'll be patient even though the sweat on his upper lip tingles. "But I want you to listen."

The hill and its narrow mountain of stitches rise higher, stop, then lower. The exhale carrying Dean's suppressed sigh ruffles a lock of Sam's bangs. The flimsy blanket around Dean's waist slips down like an avalanche. Sam lets his palm follow it and dips into Dean's halo until it flows from Dean's side onto the back of his fingers. He curls his thumb down and presses on the lowest rib. Pulls.

The crappy mattress creaks a warning at them, but Dean's body gets even heavier than it did last night when he climbed atop and let Sam push his desire up and up between his thighs. Sam huffs a laugh. "Cuddle-phobe." 

He turns his hand sideways and wiggles his nails under the blanket-snow that hides the rest of Dean's planes from sight. Underneath the cloth, Dean's flank molds itself into his touch with a barely perceptible push. Seeking comfort. Sam's pinky dives below the cliff of Dean's hipbone and digs a half-moon into the tenderness there. An earthquake sets off over Dean's belly. 

"I know all your ticklish spots." Sam grins at the pink blooming across Dean's forcibly slack face. His ring finger joins his little one in the teasing. The twitch of Dean's mouth carves creases into his cheeks. "Don't think I won't use them."

"What d'you want?" Dean grumbles, but his faux-frown can't disrupt the scenery of his smile.

Sam plants sticky kisses over it, from one corner to the other. "Look at me for a second." He murmurs and shifts the knee he has resting against Dean's pulled-up calf.

Dean's sleepy hand finds the pathway starting at his belly button, tries to distract, but the fumble it makes when Sam's body just offers a better angle to fool around tells how unsure it really is. If they start over like usual, the hesitation will linger for months and taint their bliss with doubt. Dean must know it too, this time around. That's the only explanation for the words he muttered last night between _yes_ and _I missed you._ Sam trusts his instincts, and they say Dean needs that question answered and the answer to be honest.

"Just one second, Dean." He coaxes and pulls Dean's hand up from his lap to trace the summits of his knuckles with his lips. His tongue flicks out and tastes salt. "C'mon."

"All right. What is it, Samantha?" Dean mocks, but his fingers are already fluttering apart to let Sam claim the space between them with his own. 

His eyes blink open - and there, in the clear green water lies the mirror Sam needed to see to make this one answer count. 

"I do." He says and smiles as the clouds of fear clear away from Dean's gaze to leave place for the dawning light. "I do love you."

 


End file.
